


The Thirty-fourth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The Senad Sentinel Tidbits Files by Many and Varied [34]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Senslash Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Thirty-fourth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

## The Thirty-fourth Sentinel Tidbits File

by Many and Varied

Author's disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, these tidbits aren't mine.  
Anyone who sues over this stuff, needs their head examined. 

Rating: the whole range  
Pairings: J/B (mostly!) 

* * *

Tidbit #1 

* * *

"Chief, I warned you about having that 20 oz herbal iced lemon zinger before we stopped here..." Jim grumbled, glancing over at his friend, whose fidgeting and fussing with the numerous packages their kamikaze run through the local mall to restock various pieces of camping gear and check out a few new CDs to listen to on the way to their favorite wilderness retreat had produced. 

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and desperate blue eyed glances left and right told Ellison that Sandburg was trying to spot the most elusive facility to be found in a modern shopping mall: a public rest room. 

The fact that all were located on the food court, which was at the exact opposite end of the mall, and not where the truck was conveniently parked near Sears, where, ever methodical, Jim had planned their last stop for new hiking boots, and a replacement for his favorite Craftsman screwdriver a certain unnamed party had used to pry open and stir a can of oil paint, did nothing to lessen his aggravation. 

Throwing his partner an imploring, you-know-I-don't-do-this-on-purpose, and -can-I-help-it-I-inherited-Naomi's-weak-bladder-look, Sandburg sighed. 

"Look, Jim, I'll just buzz to the other end while you get the stuff in Sears, and I'll be back before you're even ringing up, okay?" 

"Sounds good, Chief, except for one thing--you have to try those boots on." 

"Jim, don't sweat it, I'm a classic size eight, just pick 'em out and I'll pay you back when we get home." 

"No way, Chief." The taller man shook his head firmly. "With the trails and the climbing we got planned, I don't want to hear no bellyaching and bitching about blisters and sore feet. You get fitted or else. Are you sure you can't wait?", he added hopefully, then sighed as the twitching and squirming figure in front of him gave him the answer he already figured was coming. 

It wasn't the younger man's fault he had the bladder capacity of a drunken gerbil, but it was damned inconvenient at times. If Ellison had a quarter for every time they'd hunted down a men's room for Sandburg, he figured he'd have a nice retirement fund in a few more years. Motioning to the recycled plastic benches located annoyingly close to the endlessly droning water fountains designed to soothe every other weary shopper but a man with ultra sensitive ears, he indicated where he would be waiting and grabbing the packages from the grateful anthropologist, settled back on the seat, grudgingly dialed down his hearing, and watched his friend head off at a no-nonsense clip, dodging baby strollers and elderly mall walkers on his way. 

Sandbag headed down the concourse at a careful trot, praying he remembered exactly which corridor housed the bank of public phones and rest rooms his roving gaze had spotted on the way down. Spying a knot of teenagers gathered at the end of one off-shooting hallway near the Piercing Pagoda, he breathed an exultant "Yes!" and barreled down the corridor, the smells of frying meat, popcorn and tangy mustard covered pretzels zinging his olfactory sense as he passed the food vendors. He swung into the door marked Men, turned a narrow corner and headed straight for the gleaming bank of stainless steel urinals, unzipping his jeans on the way. A cheerful, whistling rendition of "Zipadeedoodaah" made him smile, and once the immediate need was attended to, a quick glance down showed the nearby stall was occupied, the wavering notes and shabby but carefully polished old- fashioned Florsheims indicating most likely, an elderly occupant. 

Moving to the sink to wash his hands, Sandburg quickly averted his eyes as the stall opened after a noisy flush, and the still whistling figure shambled up to the nearby sink, carrying something carefully in both hands. 

Passing a gnarled, liver-spotted hand under the instant-on faucet, he proceeded to lovingly rinse a slightly wrinkled, balloonish object out under the hot water, whistling merrily as he worked. Sandburg, trying desperately not to really look, scrubbed his own hands more vigorously as the full implications of just what that lovingly tended item was became more obvious as it distended with water and was emptied out several more times, and the whistling reached more and more cheerful proportions as his commode comrade, obvious to anything but his own ghastly ablutions, bent his white-haired head to his task. 

Sandburg gulped back the suddenly bitter aftertaste of the perfectly innocent whole grain grilled cheese and sprouts sandwich he had enjoyed not half an hour ago, and ignoring the roll of brown recycled paper towels, fled the scene, wiping his hands on his jeans. 

Ellison looked up in surprise; Sandburg must have set a new record getting down and back in less than five minutes flat, he had half expected the naturally garrulous grad-student to meet half a dozen acquaintances on the way down and back, and had settled in for at least a twenty minute wait. Not one to question the good will of the gods, he handed off Blair's portion of their packages, and flashing his friend a good-natured but quizzical smile, fell in step beside him as Sandburg headed without a word for Sears, a grimly nauseous look on his face. 

As the uncharacteristic silence continued on the trip to hardware, then back toward the front of the store to the shoe department, Jim's puzzlement quickly grew to concern. Waiting until they were seated, shoes off, while the clerk searched the back room for their respective sizes, he finally shot Sandburg a questioning look. His companion looked positively green-gilled; hands jammed in his pockets, stockinged-feet crossed tightly at the ankles. Had someone tried to accost him in the men's room? Ellison shoved his natural protective instincts down firmly; Sandburg was a big boy, and didn't need an over protective middle-aged cop questioning him. As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait. As soon as the shoe clerk disappeared, his friend related the whole incident in a staccato whisper, hands flying, his face a comic study in grossed-out disgust. The big cop felt his own mouth quirk into a widening smile, directly proportional to his curly haired partner's disgust. At the indignant, graphic description of the cleaning ritual and the cheerful whistling, he laughed out loud. Sandburg's blue eyes pinned him indignantly. 

"Jim!" His voice was a fierce stage whisper. "That is like so gross and not funny, man." His expression told Jim plainly what he thought of his mirth, but the older man couldn't help it. 

"Elroy!" He gasped helplessly. "I can't believe he's still around." Wiping his eyes, he added, "I used to bust the old man on a regular basis, for ah, indecent exposure when I worked vice. He used to um, do what came naturally whenever and wherever the urge came on, then just ah, wipe his hands on his pants..." At Sandburg's exclamation of disgust, he went off again, holding his aching sides. A not gentle whack on the arm sobered him sufficiently to continue. 

"Well, I finally got tired of busting him, and took him to the drug store and bought him a box of Trojans, and suggested a little privacy and proper clean up and disposal might keep him out of jail." Jim, in a rare moment of compassion for his grossed-out friend, tried to rearrange his face into more sober lines, then felt his mouth quirk and his eyes crinkle as a new thought occurred to him. 

"You know something, Sandburg? You should have paid more attention to what kind it was. I mean...I bought him those rubbers almost five years ago. If he's still using the same box, he might make it in the new edition of the Guinness book of world---ow!" 

If the shoe clerk at Sears was surprised when the smaller, long-haired man grabbed the brand new pair of size eight Maine Woods extra heavy duty super insulated with thinsulate mountain boots and whacked his large, well built friend over the head with them, he didn't show it. After all, he had worked in retail almost two years now; he figured he had seen everything. 

\--end-- 

Jackie 

* * *

Tidbit #2 

Obsenad: 

"Why the puzzled look, Chief?" 

"Just thinking about some stuff I've been reading on the fanfic lists lately, Big Guy -- you know, the ones where they talk about that show about the two guys and write stories about them." 

"What is it this week, Sandburg, more of that sub-text stuff?" 

"Well, actually, in the fanfic, it usually leaves the realm of sub-text and moves into the text. The guys go at it pretty hot and heavy." 

"What do you _see_ in that stuff, Chief? I frankly don't see the attraction." 

"Well, as an anthropologist --" 

"Pffff yeah, right." 

"No, really. Here is a show about two guys who really love each other, maybe 'that way' or maybe not -- right? And there are dozens of authors with all different ideas about how their first time would go." 

"Aw, Sandburg, do we _have_ to get into this?!" 

"But Jim, it's really interesting. In fact, maybe you can give me insight into this." 

"Me? Insight into two _guys'_ first time? Sandburg, I'm warning you \--" 

"It's ok, Big Guy. Just bear with me a moment. OK. You and I are both straight -- right? Hey! don't get mad -- I'm just talking here. Ok. So we could probably imagine how it might be for the two guys on the show if they have always been straight and then they, you know, fell in love." 

"Well, maybe..." 

"Ok. So here's one of the things I'm puzzling about: Would they slowly, gradually just start touching more often and spending more time together and then just sort of unconsciously fall in love and then sort of slowly, without really meaning to, start _really_ touching each other but ... you know ... kinda go slow, kinda shy because ... well ... they never really did this before .. you know ... with a guy... 

_OR_

... Would they just all of a sudden go WOMP! and realize that 'Damn! we're in love!' and just fly at each other, throwing clothes everywhere and going at it fast and furious like there was no tomorrow?" 

"Well, let's hope that little guy breathes more often than you do, Chief, or he'll pass out before they get down to it." 

"Jim! I'm serious, here! If it was you and some guy, how do you think _you'd_ be?" 

"Hell, I don't know, Sandburg! The subject's never really come up before. ... Why? What would you do?" 

"Gee, I don't know, Jim. That's why I'm sitting here puzzling about it........... " 

"Get lost in thought there, Chief?" 

"Just trying to visualize, Jim." 

"Visualize?! You can _visualize_?!" 

"Well, I try but I can see it going a lot of different ways. I guess I won't know until it happens." 

<Blink blink> "Until?" 

"Sure, Jim. I may be curious, but I can wait until the time is right." 

" _Until_?!" 

"You ok, Big Guy?" 

"I _was_ , Blair, until ..." 

"Until?" 

"Until you started in on _visualizing_ , Chief. Just what exactly were you _visualizing_?" 

"Well, like I said, I could see lots of possibilities ... You know how the bigger guy was always playing with women's hair? Well, he would probably play with his friend's hair, too..." 

"You mean, like this?" 

"Yeah, sort of like that..." 

"Hey, Chief, I never really noticed how the light in here makes your hair sort of glow; it's all red around the edges.... 

"And even though it's kind of wiry, it's also really soft. And it seems to reach out to me, each tendril sort of winding around my finger on its own, like it's hugging it, snuggling up to it, pulling me to you ..." 

"Mmmmmmmm..." 

"It's like every single hair is reaching out to grab me, to draw me in. And all I want to do is bury my hands under it. And my hands feel like they can't feel enough, like they want to be wrapped in it, to dive under it... Chief? You ok?" 

"Ye-es..." 

"You're sounding kind of squeaky there. Did I pull your hair too hard?" 

"No, it's not ... too hard." 

"Chief, I never really noticed how, I don't know, _dark_ you feel on the part of your neck here under your hair. Kind of hot, sweaty, but soft and _dark_. 

"Mmm-mm!" 

"And my hands just can't seem to get enough of your hair. It's like the twining individual hairs are just not enough ... 

"It's like my hands gotta bathe themselves in more and more hair until they are drowning in hair. Like they are drowning and clutching for lifelines. 

"Like the individual hairs on your head are lifelines and I gotta just grab on ... grab huge hunks ... and pull myself out of the pool where I'm drowning, overwhelmed, can't breathe... like maybe you can rescue me with your breath ... like maybe if I latch on to your hair it will pull me in to your mouth, the source of your breath, the life force... 

"Like this." 

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmph!" 

.... 

"Is that what you visualized, Blair, what you imagined?" 

"My imagination could not even come close." 

\--finis?-- 

Marmoset 

* * *

Tidbit #3 

"You know something, Jim?" Blair said. Jim Ellison grunted as he focused on the game playing out on the TV "We've been having this conversation in class, about gender roles, and the cultural and gender differences in the everyday things we do..." Blair glanced up to see his partner ignoring him totally. "Are you listening to me?" 

"Mmmm." 

"Anyway, as an experiment, I thought it might be interesting to try out a couple of my pet theories at the Precinct tomorrow. What d'you think?" Blair insisted. Jim sighed. 

"Whatever, Chief." 

* * *

You could always tell that lunch was over, when the traffic to and from the men's room got busy. Blair watched as the officer's from major crimes headed there before restarting work. Smiling to himself, he set his plan in motion. Opening the door, he spotted Rafe, Brown, Taggart, Simon and Jim in their usual silent line-up at the urinals. 

"Hey, guys!" he said, breezing in, and joining them in the 'military' line, eyes forward, back straight, no talking in the ranks. There was a general 'grunt', that assured him they hadn't fallen asleep. "Warm today, huh?" he attempted to make eye contact with Brown, who furtively glanced out of the corner of his eye, nodding shortly. "The game was pretty hot last night." 

"Sandburg?" Jim hissed. 

"What? You said so yourself, man." 

"Sandburg. Shut up!" Jim whispered through clenched teeth, glancing nervously at the other men. 

"Hey, Rafe. Those pants Armani?" Blair asked looking across the men's room. Rafe coloured profusely, immediately zipping up, and scurrying to the washbasin. 

"Sandburg!" Jim hissed a little louder. Simon glared dangerously over at the younger man, who wore an expression of abject innocence. 

"What?" 

"What is with you?" 

"Hey, I'm just making conversation." Blair pleaded. 

"This is _not_ the place." Jim zipped himself hurriedly. 

"Why not? Hey, Simon, how's Daryl doing at sch ." Blair was suddenly grabbed by the shoulder and bodily dragged from the room. "Hey, man, I'm not zipped!" he protested. 

"You will be when I get you somewhere quiet." Jim growled, manhandling the smaller man into an empty interrogation room. "What is with you?" he demanded. 

"Did you wash your hands before you grabbed me?" Blair grimaced. 

"Answer the question." 

"It's part of that experiment I was telling you about, women talk in the ladies room all the time, and men don't. Why not?" 

"Because women can find an excuse to talk any damn time, any damn where, that's why!" Jim gasped 

"Oh, man, that is a _seriously_ bad stereotypical gender assumption to make, I thought you were above that kind of thing!" Blair looked at Jim in astonishment. 

"Will you just tell me why you decided to come into the men's room to give the Gettysburg address?" 

"I was just seeing how you would all react." 

"Badly. I could have told you that." 

"But, why?" 

"Because I like to do that _particular_ thing in peace and quiet." 

"Why? You can't pee and talk at the same time? The 'equipment' doesn't work if your mouth's moving? It doesn't have much trouble when you're using it for other things." Blair gave Jim a lustful glance. Jim shook his head, this was a well-worn plot, Blair screws up, Jim shouts, Blair turns on the 'charm', Jim folds like a card table. 

"When I get you home I'm gonna...." 

Michelle 

* * *

Tidbit #4 

Obsenad: 

"Damn it!" 

Jim looked over at his roommate. "What's the problem now?" 

"I want to find some song lyrics but the sites I've tried don't have it, I don't know the artist or really even the title. I used to have a URL for a pretty decent site but back then I couldn't bookmark." 

"Didn't you get it from some people on your list?" 

"Yeah..." 

"Then ask for it." 

"Um, Jim?" 

"What, Chief?" 

"How do I make a snippet between Han Solo and Chewy about this?" 

\--end-- 

Cynara 

* * *

Tidbit #5

ObSenad: 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You know what I said? About it being about friendship?" 

"Yeah." 

"Can we be best friends with benefits?" 

Deborah 

* * *

Tidbit #6

"Where is it?" 

Jim looked over at the curly headed man on the couch, hand wrapped around the remote. "Can't find the bio on Mae West?" 

"Funny. I missed the 2 hour finale of Pretender and I'm wondering why it isn't on." 

"Did you look in the listings?" 

"They aren't even listing, right now. Nothing." 

"Then ask that list you're on." 

"But it would be OT!" 

"Don't they have some fiction recompense?" 

"Uh, yeah. But they... Want to help me? Probably Jimmy and Superman would be best for this." 

Jim was speechless. "This a new list?" 

"No. Same one." 

"Chief, I think we need to talk..." 

Cynara 

* * *

Tidbit #7 

NOTE: For this snippet, I decided to believe that Jim was born in 1958 rather than 1962. Night Owl's Nest posits both dates through canonical evidence and for the purposes of this foray, the 1958 date was more convenient. Just bear with me on that. To make up for it, I never once called the big guy "Big Guy." :) 

Warning: Schmoopiness 

* * *

"Hey, Jim! Look what's come back into style, man!" 

"Oh God, Chief, I can't believe it -- bell bottoms?!" 

"Yeah, aren't they a trip? Naomi says they were really popular about the time I was born, says I wore teeny-tiny toddler bells." 

"I can just picture that, bet they still fit -- Ouch!" 

"I bet these really take you back -- huh, Jim?" 

"Well, actually, I was only 11 when you were born -- it was mostly the bigger kids that wore them at first but then, yeah, I wore them in junior high. 

"Yeah, they _do_ kinda take me back. I remember a song that came out a little later, called "Bell Bottom Blues"..." 

"Jim? What's the matter?" 

"I forgot how forlorn that song sounds. I used to listen to it when ... well, you know how moody you can be at 14..." 

"I don't think I remember the song, Jim. Tell me about it." 

"Well ... please tell me you know who Eric Clapton is." 

"Oh, come on! Everybody knows who Eric Clapton is, Jim. You don't have to be the same age as the musician to know who he is!" 

"Well, then you know that he does blues and when he sings, there is real pain in every syllable. And his guitar work -- " 

"Hey, you don't have to tell _me_ , man -- Clapton is _god_! Or at least one of his avatars..." 

"Avatar?" 

"Earthly manifestation of the deity ... never mind... so the _song_?" 

"It's about loss, hopelessness, pleading for a lost love -- it's the blues, Sandburg, what else would it be about? It's not the theme so much as that pleading, crying, cracking voice. And the desperation." 

"How does it go? Do you remember any of the words?" 

"Sandburg! I can't sing for shit -- I'm not going to sing the song." 

"You don't have to -- just say the lyrics -- OK?" 

"Well there are a couple of parts I remember. One part goes, 'And if I could choose a place to die /It would be in your arms.'" 

"Jim ... wow..." 

"But the parts that really used to get me were less gentle. Some days I thought the guy was such a wimp and then there were days when I felt _just_ like him." 

"How did it go, Jim?" 

"The scariest part goes, 'Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you? /Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?'" 

"Whoa, _that_ 's desperate!" 

"Yeah, and then there's this chorus sort of thing that goes even farther, really. It goes, 'I don't want to fade away. /Give me one more day, please.' 

"I mean, _imagine_ the desperation. He's begging for only _one more day_. Not a chance for a whole future, a whole lifetime -- just one day. 

"I guess at 14 it resonated because one day could feel like a lifetime, especially when ... you're all alone, different. And there's always the unrequited love thing. ... You probably went through that at 14, too, huh?" 

"Jim, sometimes I still feel that way at 29. Are you saying that it goes away by 40?" 

"Loneliness, desperation, alienation, unrequited love .. no respecters of age, Chief." 

"Sounds like a Title IX -- doesn't discriminate on the basis of age, race, gender, religion, sexual orientation ..." 

"Very funny, Sandburg. But it's more like a disease than anything else. And the only cure for the disease is love." 

"Which is also no respecter of age, gender, sexual orientation ..." 

"Chief, we've drifted pretty far from your new bell bottoms. Look good on you." 

"Wanna see how good they look off?" 

"Well, _Doctor_ Sandburg, _that_ should cure me ..." 

"Or kill us both." 

"'And if I could choose a place to die / It would be in your arms.'" 

\--finis-- 

Marmoset 

* * *

Tidbit #8 

Daydream 

"Jim, look." Blair grinned broadly at his Sentinel, his eyes sparkling, waving a copy of the TV Guide at him. 

"What are you so happy about?" Jim leaned over his lover's shoulder, one hand slipping beneath Blair's mane of curls to brush his neck. 

"You know that show we like...the one with the guardian and his shaman?" 

"Yes," Jim murmured, now beginning to zone on the scent of Blair's skin. 

Blair took hold of Jim's hand and waggled it. "Stay with me, guy. They were only going to bring it back in January but ...get this..." reading, " 'due to unexpected time slot availability...' ". Blair laughed derisively. "Yeah, three of their new shows bombed, one before it even got on the air. ' ...The Guardian will be returning at the beginning of November.' Great, huh? Jim? Oh no. Not again. Jim, let go of my hair and focus on my voice. Come back to me. Find the way, listen to my voice." 

Jim blinked and stared at Blair. "What were you saying?" 

"That in a month you and I will be snuggling on the couch on Wednesday evenings and watching new episodes of The Guardian." 

"Great, Chief. But I think I need a snuggle right now." He gathered Blair into his arms and hugged for all he was worth. 

"Oh, man, it's going to be a good year." 

finis 

MJ 

* * *

End Sentinel Tidbits file #34.

 


End file.
